


The weighting game

by ChunkyUniverse



Category: Original Work
Genre: Feeding Kink, Gen, Weight Gain
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-17
Updated: 2019-06-17
Packaged: 2020-05-13 14:53:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19253425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChunkyUniverse/pseuds/ChunkyUniverse
Summary: This is an original story set in a universe that is built up of weight gain fic tropes. However, it is not intended to be erotic, but more of an exploration of those tropes in a context where they have to support a plot of their own. So far, it does not contain any explicit scenes.An ex-scientist moves to the sleepy Southern town of Nimis where she intends to start a new life. Here, she is confronted with a number of people who each have an agenda relating to her past, each of which relates to weight gain in one way or another.





	The weighting game

This was it. They had just finished moving into the sleepy town of Nimis, Middle of Fucking Nowhere. Bradey had a last look at herself in the mirror, and adjusted her hair and glasses. She’d moved here for her job as a science teacher at the local high school, and her husband Trevor had been transferred to manage the local burger joint. They’d settle down here, and leave the past behind. Yes, this was it.  
Bradey left the bedroom, and went downstairs to welcome the first neighbours at the housewarming and were standing around the backyard, chatting. Trevor was making the last few preparations for dinner. He was wearing a combination of the most hideous pink, frilly apron over a blue and orange hawaiian shirt.  
‘Hey, sweetie,’ Trevor said, and bowed to kiss Bradey on the forehead. They were a bit of an odd couple, with her being quite short and Trevor almost being tall enough to hit his head on doorframes.  
She left into the garden, and was immediately greeted by mrs. Dyson, an elderly black lady who lived across the street.  
‘How have you enjoyed your first weeks around here in Nimis?’ she asked, and before Bradey could answer, she continued talking. ‘Y’all have such a wonderful place, I love what y’all have done with the garden. By the way, I brought my world-famous cornbread.’ She suddenly dropped her voice to a stage whisper, ‘I can give you the recipe if you want it, but don’t tell anyone, it’s a secret recipe.’  
‘Well, my husband’s usually in charge of the kitchen…’ Bradey tried.  
‘Ooh, in that case…’ her eyes darted towards the open kitchen door, where Trevor could be seen taking a casserole dish from the oven. ‘I retract my offer, I don’t trust a skinny cook,’ mrs. Dyson said, winked conspicuously, and laughed heartily, which seemingly caused her entire body to shake.  
Now that she mentioned it, Trevor and she rather stood out among the people of Nimis - this being a Southern town, the people here were rather… big. The only other remotely skinny person they had seen here so far was Eugene Pottle, who was standing on the other side of the garden wearing a dark purple coat. He seemed to be admiring the flower beds with his husband, who was of a more usual size for Nimis. He looked up and noticed that Bradey had come out, and walked over to her.  
‘Congratulations with the new place!’ Eugene said, and handed Bradey a huge box of chocolates. ‘Straight from the factory. Limited edition,’ he added, and winked.  
The Pottles were one of the wealthiest families in town, and lived in a large house up a hill just out of the town centre. Eugene was the heir to a candy factory just 15 minutes away, which employed many of the town’s inhabitants.  
‘Thank you, that’s… nice of you,’ Bradey said, eyeing the candies with a bit of suspicion.

Meanwhile, Trevor heard the doorbell ring, so he came running to answer it, still wearing his baby blue oven mitts. He suspected it must be mayor Mitchells, since he had received a last minute text that the mayor would be dropping by to the house warming.  
The man standing outside was almost six foot tall and a little less wide than the doorframe. He was wearing what must have been a pretty expensive suit, and was holding his hat in one of his chubby, sausage-fingered hands. In his other hand he was holding a basket wrapped in cellophane. His black hair was very short, his hairline was receding and he was graying at the temples. His eyes were very small, and he looked vaguely absent-minded.  
‘Hi, I’m Trevor, it’s so nice to meet you, mayor Mitchells! Oh, that looks wonderful!’ he said, accepting the gift basket and shaking the mayor’s hand more enthusiastically than socially appropriate.  
The man giggled a little, and stepped aside to reveal a woman about as tall as him, but with a slim, almost vaguely rectangular figure. She was wearing a black pantsuit, and a pair of glasses that made her eyes look unusually stern. Her hair was short, coifféd and while she looked to be well into her forties, her hair didn’t show any signs of starting to gray. However, it didn’t quite look like she dyed it - somehow it seemed more likely that she just had to look sternly in the mirror every morning and her hair would just refuse to gray out of respect for her person. She scraped her throat.  
‘The pleasure is entirely mine, doctor Grant,’ the woman said.  
Trevor turned red. ‘It’s… I don’t… My wife’s the one with the doctorate, I just went to community college. Call me Trevor.’  
‘I can excuse the first time. Call me Velda,’ she said flatly.  
‘And what’s your name?’ Trevor said, quickly trying to divert attention from his social misstep.  
‘I’m Guy, so nice to meet you, too!’ the fat man said, and he shook Trevor’s mitten almost as enthusiastically as Trevor had.  
‘Where’s your wife,’ Velda interrupted them. It was a demand, not a question.

The mayor’s arrival was announced by the clacking of her heels on the garden path. Bradey looked up from pretending to be interested in what mrs. Dyson had to say about whatever recipe she had been discussing.  
‘You must be doctor Grant,’ mayor Mitchells said.  
‘I… I guess? Call me Bradey,’ she said.  
‘Well then, Bradey, welcome to Nimis.’  
‘Thanks?’ Bradey stammered. For some reason her mind was racing with what to say, but came back blank. ‘I… do…’  
‘Yes?’ Mayor Mitchells raised an eyebrow. Her eyes were both intimidating and enticing.  
‘Do… do you visit all newcomers around here?’ Bradey’s brain eventually managed to produce after a silence. She wasn’t exactly sure how long that silence had been.  
‘Of course not. I’ve been expecting you.’ The mayor’s voice lowered.  
Bradey wasn’t entirely sure whether she was feeling drunk before dinner already. She’d only had one glass of punch. Right? Had she?  
The mayor had leaned in and was whispering almost inaudibly now. ‘I know what you did. You have something I want. Give it to me.’  
Something inside Bradey seemed to short circuit. An almost irresistible urge to say yes to this terrifying, captivating woman in front of her was fighting a conscious effort most similar to moments when a character in a movie is about to do something unbelievably stupid, but it’s absolutely no use to scream at them to not do the Stupid Thing.  
‘What do you think you are doing!’ Mrs. Dyson’s voice echoed across the yard, and snapped Bradey back into reality.  
‘No!’ Bradey said loudly and resolutely, since her conscious effort to not do the Stupid Thing suddenly didn’t have anything to fight.  
Mayor Mitchells stared disapprovingly.  
Mrs. Dyson hugged Bradey, her golden pendant shaped like a bunch of grapes hanging in Bradey’s face.  
‘Are you certain?’ the mayor demanded from Bradey.  
‘Oh she’s damn certain,’ mrs. Dyson answered in her stead.  
‘Sure. Just be aware that opposing me has consequences,’ mayor Mitchells said, and looked at Bradey again. The urge to give in to the mayor appeared again, but mrs. Dyson physically pulled her back.  
‘Guy! We’re leaving!’ she yelled as Guy and Trevor emerged from the kitchen. They were chatting familiarly. Trevor was carrying a large casserole dish to the buffet table outside. Guy hurriedly patted his pockets upon hearing his wife announcing that it was time to leave, and handed something wrapped in a ribbon to Trevor.  
‘Already?’ Trevor asked. ‘Are you sure you two don’t want to stay for dinner?’  
‘Yes, we’re sure. We have other engagements.’  
The mere mention of dinner made Guy’s chubby head turn. ‘Honey, you sure we couldn’t…’  
‘Fine,’ Velda sighed. ‘I don’t suppose you have any tupperware?’  
‘We do,’ Trevor said, which resulted in the mayor’s husband leaving with three full containers of food.

It was long past sundown, all the guests had left, and Trevor had gone to bed. Bradey had been spending the last 45 minutes methodically sorting the gifts they had received. Mr. Pottle’s chocolates? Definitely not, those have to go, she thought, and she deposited them into a trash bag filled with the majority of the food they had received. Finally she looked at the big basket from the mayor.  
‘There’s a lot to unpack here,’ she mumbled. ‘But let’s just throw away the whole thing.’ She threw the basket, content and all, into the bag and closed it.  
She noticed a note that someone had left with the housewarming presents. “I am so sorry about what happened,” it said. “I have something to ask of you. Call me if you have the opportunity.” It was signed “Gloria Dyson” in neat, curly handwriting.  
Bradey sighed and neatly folded the note. She got up, took the trash out and got ready for bed.

Around four AM, Bradey was woken by Trevor climbing into bed. ‘Good night, love you, sweetie,’ he mumbled, half-asleep. His breath smelled sweet.

**Author's Note:**

> The people have decided, and they decided they want to know what Bradey did. Thanks for voting!


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